Page 49 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“More.”

She looks at me. “I wanted this. Wanted to touch you. Wanted to make you lose control.”

I groan and come into her hand. Scarlet watches every second, her lips parted and her scent turning rich with satisfaction. I kiss her as the last pulse moves through me.

Wes makes her cry into my mouth and her third orgasm hits. Her hand goes slack around me while her whole body locks and trembles. Wes keeps her safe through it, one hand working between her thighs and the other steady at her hip.

The room is filled with Scarlet’s scent, sweet and fully satisfied.

Wes slows at last. He withdraws his fingers carefully and rubs circles against her thigh rather than taking his hands away all at once.

I kiss her temple, her cheek, and the corner of her mouth. “You with us?”

Scarlet nods, boneless against me.

“Words,” Wes says, gentler now.

“Yes.”

“Anything hurt?”

“No.”

“Too much?”

She opens one eye. “Ask me after I regain ownership of my limbs.”

His mouth nearly smiles.

I reach for the towel folded beneath the evidence folders on the coffee table, then reconsider and grab a clean dish towel from the armchair instead.

Scarlet watches me clean her hand and then mine. A flush climbs into her face.

I kiss her knuckles before embarrassment can find a foothold. “No shame,” I tell her.

Wes pulls her shorts and underwear back into place with careful hands. Then he rises, disappears into the kitchen, and returns with water. “Drink.”

Scarlet accepts the glass without arguing. It might be the most convincing evidence of exhaustion yet. Wes sits beside her. I shift to the other side, and Scarlet ends up held between us beneath the quilt from the couch. Her head rests against my chest, her legs stretched across Wes’s lap while his palm moves slowly along her shin.

A purr rolls out of her again. This time, she doesn’t deny it. Wes’s purr answers, deep enough to vibrate through the couch. I press my mouth to her hair.

Scarlet’s eyes drift closed. “This doesn’t mean I’m suddenly easy to manage.”

“God forbid,” I say.

Wes rubs his thumb against her ankle. “You’re not a problem to manage.”

Her eyes open. The words must have reached a place inside her that pleasure didn’t.

Wes holds her gaze. “You asked. We listened. That’s all.”

Scarlet looks down at the quilt covering the three of us. “Can we stay here for a while?”

“Yes,” I say.

Wes’s arm settles along the back of the couch behind us. “As long as you need.”

The investigation remains spread across the kitchen table. The disabled cameras, the muddy residue, and the missing Love Stone will still be there when the storm passes.